


we could disappear for a while

by bellevie



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellevie/pseuds/bellevie
Summary: Catra has a rough day. Adora, true to form, suggests sneaking out to make her feel better.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	we could disappear for a while

**Author's Note:**

> Hello spop fandom… I am new here so please take this offering of catradora fluff shdgdhf
> 
> I wanted to write something simple and pre-canon as like, an exercise to get used to writing these two and the environment around them... I have a feeling I’ll be writing about them a lot more lol.
> 
> Title taken from Disappear by Tonight Alive.

Catra’s tail flits back and forth behind her from her perch on a line of railing overlooking the foggy expanse of the Fright Zone. Adora hesitates for a long moment, the tap of her boots coming to a halt - surely Catra has heard her. She doesn’t turn around. In the inhale, the expanse of time between taking another step, Adora counts the ridges of Catra’s spine visible through her clothes where she hunches into herself. Her hand itches to trace them, inexplicably.

She settles for leaning against the steel railing and nudging Catra’s arm with her shoulder.

“What?” Catra snaps. Her jaw is clenched tight, her eyebrows scrunched together as she stares daggers into the skyline. 

“I wanted to check on you,” Adora says. “Don’t listen to Shadow Weaver, she was just-”

“I don’t care what she thinks of me. I’m fine.”

_Sure, Catra._ Adora shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Her best friend is a flighty one; if she pushes too hard, Catra will just scamper off to the next uninhabited rooftop to sulk. 

“I just…” Catra starts. Her ears droop down to fold against her head. “I can’t wait for us to run this place, someday. Wouldn’t have to deal with Shadow Weaver anymore if we ruled the world.” The fading sun casts a rosy glow over her, golden light glinting through locks of unruly hair fluttering in the wind behind her. The edges of a few strands brush up against Adora’s face, enough to make anyone else wrinkle their nose and move away - but it’s comforting, her presence.

“We’ll do it together,” Adora says. Catra finally spares a glance her way, quietly pleased with her answer. The tail gently coiling around the crook of her elbow tells her all she needs to know. Distantly, Adora wonders how goofy the look on her own face is; it’s worth it, however embarrassing.

“I could do with a change of scenery in the meantime,” Catra says, finally uncurling her body and stretching her arms above her head. “I’m sick of looking at the same five grey buildings.”

Adora decides not to point out that this _is_ Catra’s favorite spot to brood, and she could probably pick somewhere else to sit if she wants to. Instead, a suggestion: “Well, if you really want to… we could disappear for a while.”

“Disappear?” Catra asks, intrigued. “You know, I’ve always wanted to steal a skiff and go for a joyride.”

Adora holds up a single index finger. “Maybe not that.”

“Not _today_.” Catra waggles her eyebrows.

“Not today,” Adora agrees. “How about something a little more subtle?” She pushes off the railing and promptly wraps her arms around Catra’s waist, hoisting her into the air.

Catra, predictably, squeals and flails all of her limbs at once. “Put me _down!_ ” 

Adora’s bright laughter reverberates through the hollow, metallic walkways surrounding them. She does, at some point, put Catra down in favor of taking her hand. The two of them dart around corners, through shadows to avoid patrolling bots, snickering to one another the whole way.

  
  


Adora is lit from below by the sickly green waste trickling through the bowels of the Fright Zone, but from above her blonde hair and white shirt are bathed in the deep red of the sun, as if she’s been dipped in flame.

Catra’s mind is still lingering on the phantom touch of Adora’s arms around her, her hands on Catra’s waist. Adora’s hands are warm and strong, and fit into her own like they were made to; she grips a little tighter on the hand pulling her forward. The outskirts of the Fright Zone are visible ahead, where the dry soil cracks open into a chasm. 

“Uh, Adora? Where are we going again?” she asks.

“Here,” Adora says, and promptly digs her heels into the ground. Catra slams into the back of her, squeaking as the two of them ungracefully end up in a heap on the ground.

“Thanks for the warning,” Catra grumbles while sitting up, but Adora is grinning, cross-legged, a smear of dirt on her cheek. Catra’s heart skips in her chest, so naturally she shoves Adora’s shoulder. “Weirdo.”

Adora lifts an eyebrow. “No one’s around, Catra, you can be nice to me. Come here,” she says, opening her arms wide. Catra hesitates for a brief moment before crawling into the space Adora has made for her. No matter how petulant or ill-tempered she is, Adora always makes space for her. 

They lean back against a rusted hunk of metal jutting out of the ground and Catra allows herself to bury her nose into Adora’s neck. Her fingers rest on Adora’s side where her arms have wrapped around her, fighting the urge to grip tight to her shirt so as not to tear it - though she wants to hold Adora as close as she can and never let go.

_Thanks for always being there. For staying with me,_ she doesn’t say. She purrs instead, unabashedly, and Adora laughs again. It’s so satisfying, in a primal, possessive way, that beneath the droning of machinery, the marching of boots on iron, the chatter of soldiers and dripping of polluted water and chirping of insects that this sound is _hers._ No one else in Etheria is privy to this moment. Adora’s hands find their way behind her ears and scratch, and that’s... embarrassing, but not unwelcome.

Catra’s eyes slip closed until the glare of light disappears behind them. She opens them again to the structures of the Fright Zone painted in dark silhouettes stretching out above her and Adora.

“So, we maybe kind of missed curfew,” Adora says. “I’ll take the fall for it if we get caught, don’t worry.”

Catra huffs once, cynical. “Won’t stop Shadow Weaver from blaming it on me.” She quickly untangles herself from Adora’s arms and rises, adjusting her headpiece and dusting herself off. The thought of Shadow Weaver is enough to reignite a fire in her blood - she starts off back toward the bunk without another word.

“Catra!” Adora calls after her. She catches up, jogging backwards, her blonde ponytail bobbing behind her head. “Hey, listen, you said it yourself: someday we’ll call the shots, right?” She smiles softly and it’s impossibly infuriating, endlessly endearing how much better Catra feels for seeing it.

“...Yeah. Someday,” she says. Adora takes her hand again - and it’s a little more affectionate than usual, but Catra doesn’t mind. She’ll take the distraction, the butterflies, and the heart palpitations and drink them down like honey. Even if Adora doesn’t feel the same… but any time she so clearly wants Catra alone like this, she allows herself a little hope. 

Adora squeezes her hand, and she allows herself a little more.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing pre-canon Catra is just a lot of: Honey, You Got A Big Storm Coming
> 
> uhhhhh so yeah I hope you enjoyed reading, thank you ;_;


End file.
